


A Fine Squire Indeed

by helens78



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, Consent Play, Crossdressing, F/M, Incest, Roleplay, Rough Sex, Sibling Incest, Twincest, Twins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-02
Updated: 2011-06-02
Packaged: 2017-10-20 00:39:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/206954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helens78/pseuds/helens78
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cersei finds squire's garb and dresses up.  Jamie lets her know why it's not such a good idea to follow him into battle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Fine Squire Indeed

**Author's Note:**

> For my "crossdressing" square, 2011 Kink Bingo. As you can see from the tags, this is an incest pairing, and the sex involves a little bit of consent play banter.

She doesn't have Hanfred's training, but she's got the height well enough, and with her breasts bound she's got the same build. So there Cersei stands, in squire's garb from head to foot, and Jaime goes a little weak at the knees.

She smiles at him, sweet, polite, and if he didn't know her so well he'd miss the bit where the smile mocks him. "Polish your sword for you, ser?" she asks, and it's all he can stand; he takes her by the arms and pushes her across the room, shoving her up against the wall.

Her mouth is hot and greedy under his, and she tastes like honeyed wine and ripe fruits, nothing like a squire would, not really. Her hands slip under his tunic, scratch at his chest, and that's not like a squire, either. Squires don't take the initiative, not often. They serve when they're asked, but it's not the same.

"It's not fair," she breathes, panting openly against his cheek when he kisses across her face, against the top of his head when he moves over to her neck, down her throat. "Not fair, I should be there, I should be there--"

"Like this?" He pulls away to look at her. She's not mocking him now. But he is, maybe; he lets a smirk slide across his face, and he slips a hand between her legs. She lets him, of course, because it's him, because she's always been this easy for him. No one but him, none but her brother, her twin, her other half. But when it's his hand, she'll moan and writhe and beg like a whore, and he loves her for all of that.

That smirk of his has her uneasy, though; he can see it in her eyes. He grips her hard, enough to make her gasp and wince and press her shoulders into the wall.

"We'd better armor you here," he says. "Knights are worse than dogs when a battle's done."

"Only you," she says, squirming down against his hand. He hasn't let up on her; she's used to it now, maybe even has something to prove.

So does he.

He presses his body against hers, feels her breasts under her tunic, a flat hard spot held down with strong fabric. "You wouldn't fool anyone," he tells her. "They'd know. You can dress as you like, but you're no squire, and they'd know it."

"Show me," she whispers. "Show me what you'd do, show me what you'd do if you found me there, once you're blooded and you're raging for it--"

He groans, but there's no resisting her, not now, not when she's urging him to do what he's been thinking since he first saw her. He pulls her across the room again, not to the bed but to the table, and he slams her face-down on top of it, not so careful as he ought to be.

"Is this what you wanted?" he snarls. He works her breeches down, pushes them halfway to her knees and slides his hand over her ass. "You want to play the squire for me, see what happens to good little boys who don't know their place any better than you ever did?"

"Good little girls who get caught out," Cersei whispers, "come on, do it, show me, _ser_ \--"

He draws his hand up, feels the wetness between her legs. He groans at that, too, and she shifts back, rubbing her cunt against his hand, letting him feel just how much she wants this. It's too much to bear, all that slick heat, so he doesn't keep either of them waiting; he unlaces his own breeches and drives in hard, slamming her against the table. She chokes off her cry, reaching a hand up to her mouth and biting down on her wrist, but she doesn't say _no_ or _don't_ or _stop_ , and so he doesn't show her any mercy.

It's easy to imagine her like this, hair cut short, posing as another Lannister, perhaps--Gods know there are enough of them. He knows full well that if it came to fighting, she'd be fiercer than any squire he's ever known; if it were her by his side in battle, Gods help anyone who came at him.

And he'd take her like this, rough and brutal, spilling his battle-lust into her, using her like half the knights he's known have used squires. With him, it's his right hand, his left if he's feeling adventurous. The squires have never held a moment's appeal to him--but oh, this one does.

"Jaime--"

" _Ser_ ," he snaps, hips jerking forward hard as he grabs a fistful of her hair. "You're my squire, remember?"

"Ser!" Cersei's voice is low and ragged, like the squire she's pretending to be--oh, good girl. Good girl, or good boy, or both, right now. Jaime holds her hips down and fucks her harder. "Ser, yes, please, please, more--"

There isn't much more, and surely she knows there won't be if she's begging that way. He digs his fingers in--he'll leave bruises, and he'll kiss them better later--and spends himself, his seed filling her, her cunt clenching tight around his cock. He moans, and she moans with him, still with her low squire's voice.

"Take me with you," she whispers, later, when they've shed their clothes and he's holding her gently. "I don't want you going to war without me."

"Hush." He kisses her hair, strokes her cheek. "I'll come back safe to you. I promise. Who knows, love--" He smiles, even though she can't see it. "Maybe I'll come back to you a king."

 _-end-_


End file.
